Paint the wind, p.8
Paint the Wind, page 8
It was at that moment that Andreas appeared in my line of sight. He had dressed flamboyantly, in contrast to my severe and proper garb. He wore a burgundy velvet jacket, a voluminous scarf of magenta and olive green threads wrapped several times around his neck, and a Tyrolean felt hat complete with feather. He was difficult to miss, which had been his intention. He stood back from the window, but it was clear he had seen me. I brushed a stray curl behind my ear as a signal, and then he turned away. We were in the last stages of the meal, and I placed my knife and fork across my plate. Our waiter hastened to remove the platter, but my father waved him away from his own.
“Another coffee, Bitte.”
The waiter looked at Mama, who nodded. I declined. As he moved away from the table, I recognized my moment had arrived, but the words I had rehearsed for days refused to come. So, instead, I improvised.
“I’m sorry I didn’t mention it earlier, but I have plans for the rest of the day. My friends are waiting.”
“But it’s Christmas Day. Aren’t they spending it with their families?”
“They celebrated as we did last night. I’ll be late.”
I rose as decisively as I could without creating a disturbance. To forestall the objection I could see forming on my father’s lips, I bent to kiss them both.
“Frohe Weihnachten. Ich danke euch für alles.” Merry Christmas. Thank you for everything.
And I was gone, leaving my father stiff and grim and my mother in a state of disbelief. I knew she would rearrange her expression immediately in order to avoid questions or wagging tongues. I saw the waiter return with their coffees, and they resumed their meals, disappointed but not horrified. That would come later, when they returned home and discovered the letter.
I pushed open the doors and motioned to Andreas to move away from the windows.
“That seemed to go more smoothly than you anticipated.”
“They think I’m gone only for the afternoon.”
“You lost courage. You’re not coming home with me.”
“I decided not to make a scene. They’ll learn the truth in the letter I left for them. Did you hire a cab? They still might follow me.”
He led me around the corner to the waiting carriage. Once inside, he took me in his arms.
“I have a surprise for you. I thought we should leave the city for a few days, given that your parents will surely search for you. A friend has a lodge in Tyrol. We can stay there. I already packed your bag. The cab is taking us to the train station.”
My heart was racing, and I began to shake.
“Are you chilled? You’re shivering.” Andreas drew me closer to him and took my hands between his, rubbing them. I was about to make some excuse about going from the overheated café to the frigid street, but I knew it wasn’t the change in temperature that had precipitated my trembling. Tears began to prick my eyes, and I withdrew my hand from Andreas’s grasp to wipe them away.
“Are you regretting your decision so soon? If so, I can direct the carriage back to your parents.” His voice was tight, a tone of dismissal that I knew was masking hurt.
“Not at all. These tears have not sprung from dismay but from exhilaration and, I have to admit, disbelief that I am actually here. I know my departure will be more challenging in the days to come, but for today, I’m going to savor my freedom.”
He took my hands back and kissed them.
We slipped out of the carriage and into the train station quickly. I did not look back to see if we’d been followed, but I saw Andreas scan the cabs behind ours as he paid the driver and grabbed our bags.
“I’ve already purchased the tickets. We should go directly to the train. We travel first to Bolzano and change there for Meran.”
The main concourse was sparsely populated. I realized that, because of the holiday, a limited number of trains must be running. Ours was most likely the only one today leading to our destination. We walked briskly to the platform, found our car, and climbed aboard. Our compartment was empty, and I sank into my seat as Andreas stowed the luggage in the rack above. The exhilaration I’d felt in the cab had dissipated. Leaving the café without being stopped by my parents had been only the first step, albeit a successful one. I knew there were many more challenges facing us. I chewed my lip and tapped my foot, waiting for the final whistle and the movement of the train. My trembling had subsided, only to be replaced by a nervous energy, as if my own movements could fuel the train. Finally, the screech of metal upon metal and a lurch of the car signaled that we were on our way at last. The compartment remained ours alone, and I looked out the window, watching the snowbound city recede from view. Andreas retrieved a flask from his pocket and offered me a sip of brandy. The fiery liquid slid down my throat and warmed my belly. I leaned back against the velvet seat and closed my eyes. My sleepless night, combined with the anxiety of anticipation, had left me exhausted. Perhaps now, hurtling away from my parents and my past, I could sleep.
Chapter Nine
It was nearly midnight when we arrived in Meran. I had slept fitfully during the long journey, at times curled up against Andreas and at other times shifting restlessly to find a comfortable position. Unlike on my trip to Bad Ischl, we had no sleeping accommodations.
We were two of only a handful of passengers who had changed trains at Bolzano for the spur to Meran. I pulled my collar close around my neck against the frigid mountain air as we descended to the platform. Andreas retrieved the address of the hunting lodge from his pocket and strode toward the one waiting carriage outside the station, an open sled that fortunately was piled with blankets. We climbed in and huddled together as the driver negotiated the road along the river and then out of town into the forest. Night sounds greeted us along the way. An owl took flight above us, either disturbed by the bells on the horses’ bridles or intent on the hunt. Its wingspan only inches above us, it sent a current of air that lifted the curls that had slipped out of my coiffure. In the distance, a wolf howled.
At last, the sleigh came to a halt at a gate, and the driver motioned that we had reached our destination. Andreas retrieved our bags, paid the driver, and helped me down onto the snow-covered path. Ahead, beyond the gate, we could see the outline of a building and began to make our way through several inches of snow to get to it.
I was dressed for a day in the city and hadn’t thought to change on the train into more sensible clothing. After trudging several meters, we reached the lodge. Andreas found the key above a window ledge and, after a few unsuccessful attempts, managed to open the door. He struck a match and searched for a lamp while I stood just inside. It felt colder inside the lodge than it had in the sleigh, and I hoped we’d find a supply of wood as well as a lamp.
After a few curses, Andreas located a lantern, and the shape of our surroundings became clearer. The lodge was rough, clearly a hunting cabin with practical, hand-hewn furniture. The most welcome sight was a tiled stove in the far corner. I was pleased to see Andreas kneeling at the open grate where kindling and small logs had already been set inside. I moved quickly to his side, hands outstretched to the flames Andreas had coaxed into existence. Once the fire was established, we explored the lodge further. A bunk room adjacent to the main room offered some thin ticking mattresses on rope-strung beds and a trunk filled with coarse blankets. I retreated back to the stove and tested the cushions on a built-in daybed.
“I don’t think the heat will penetrate to the bunk room. I’d rather sleep here closer to the fire.”
A drawer under the bed yielded some pillows and a down comforter. I wrapped the latter around me and invited Andreas to join me.
“We can keep each other warm under this.”
He added a few more logs to the stove, slipped out of his boots, and climbed into the bed with me. At first, our objective was simple—get warm. Except for our shoes, we were still fully clothed, including coats, hats, and gloves. I could barely sleep, not only because of the cold but also because it was dawning on me that my escape had been successful. Despite the frigid air and primitive accommodations, I felt an exhilaration that bubbled up out of my lungs as uncontrollable laughter.
Our only light was the glow of the fire, but I could detect an expression of consternation on Andreas’s face.
He sat up abruptly and asked, “Are you unwell? You appear to be in the midst of hysteria.”
I managed with a few hiccups to calm my unrestrained laughter in order to answer him.
“Hysterical joy.”
I hugged him through the layers of wool to convey how very well I felt at that moment.
Somehow ignoring air so cold we could both see our breath, we managed to remove our many layers of clothing, burrow under the feather blanket, and make love, punctuated by my irrepressible laughter.
Then we slept, waking several hours later to sunlight casting a glittering display on the frosted windows and a fire nothing more than cold ash.
We pulled our clothes on under the covers, then ventured out of bed to restart the fire. We had depleted the logs that had been stacked inside, forcing us to don coats and boots to retrieve more from the covered porch. When I opened the door, I gasped at what had been invisible in the darkness the night before—a vista of the mountains across the valley, the river frozen between the lodge and the village. In direct contrast to the frigid air, the sunlight cast a magical spell that created the illusion of warmth. Branches laden with ice glittered in the light and rustled with winter music.
“Andreas, come and see the light!” I was mesmerized by the variegated shadows on the snow, from a deep indigo to a smoky periwinkle. I spun around, absorbing every aspect of our hidden nest. When the cold finally defeated my explorations, I loaded my arms with logs and made the first of several trips back inside. Andreas restarted the fire while I hunted in the kitchen for a kettle. Andreas had wisely packed some provisions for the trip—a round loaf of bread, cheese, and salami. In the kitchen cupboard, I found a tin of ground coffee, some jars of pickled beets, and marmalade. We made a breakfast feast and ate on the floor by the stove.
“How long will we stay here?”
“Only a few days. We need to return by Sylvester for the Secession opening.”
“My parents will still be looking for me when we get back.”
Andreas nodded. “We can’t hide here forever. At some point, you’ll have to confront them.”
“I know, but for now, I want only to live in the present. Let’s take a walk in the woods and then spend some time in the village. We should get some provisions; what we have here won’t last very long. As lovely as our breakfast was, I know I’ll be starving by noon.”
We bundled in our warmest clothing, banked the fire in the stove, and headed out along the path the sled had taken as it carried us the night before.
We walked briskly, stopping now and then to take in breathtaking views over the valley. Retrieving a pencil stub and a small notepad that I had tucked in my pocket, I sketched a few images that struck me as we ventured farther into the forest—stark tree branches with a few berries not yet plucked by hungry birds; a tall fir tree so laden with snow that its branches draped to the ground.
We reached the village red-cheeked and famished.
“First, Mahlzeit!” I tugged on Andreas’s sleeve when I saw the warm glow of windows from a Gasthof. Aromas of bacon, roasting potatoes, and barley soup greeted us when we entered.
A warm, hearty meal was exactly what I needed. We attracted curious stares as we settled at a table near the stove, but the proprietor, an energetic woman with both mirth and girth, greeted us warmly. We ate with gusto and, once sufficiently warmed by both the food and the fire, ventured back out to a market recommended by our hostess. While I shopped, Andreas went to the railroad station to get the timetable for our return to Vienna and to find a driver to pick us up later in the week.
By the time we had accomplished our errands, the sun was much lower in the sky and well on its way to being hidden by the mountain. With the incentive of returning to the lodge before darkness, we urged each other to quicken the pace. We were trudging uphill laden with sagging bags of groceries, including a few bottles of wine, but we made it back just as the last sliver of sunlight slipped from sight and the brilliance of the morning disappeared into a monochromatic landscape.
I deposited our supplies in the kitchen while Andreas restarted the fire. I found a corkscrew and some tin cups—no crystal goblets—and poured each of us a well-deserved measure of wine. By true darkness, we were settled once again before the stove, enjoying Abendbrot and the silence of the woods.
We spent the next three days in a bubble of domestic bliss—daytime walks, venturing farther afield each day, away from the village and toward higher ground; meals of roasted chicken and Wiener schnitzel served with red cabbage, and Kaiserschmarrn for dessert. In the evenings, by the light of the oil lamp, we sketched or read, our feet intertwined as we stretched out on the rug. At night we made love. It was much easier than I had anticipated to ignore thoughts of what awaited me in Vienna, so immersed was I in the natural beauty of the Ötztal Alps and the intimacy of time spent only with each other. No distractions or obligations pecked at our attention.
It was what I imagined a honeymoon would be, although I didn’t say that word to Andreas. The idea of marriage to him was the encapsulation of the hidebound bourgeois life he believed he had rescued me from.
Our idyll came to an end too quickly. By the last day, I could see Andreas was impatient to return to Vienna. The exhibition had been hung before Christmas, with him overseeing every placement and lighting, but he wanted to have time to review the space again and address anything he deemed amiss.
With reluctance, I packed up my belongings and wrapped food for the journey. The sled arrived; we locked up and headed down to the valley. I turned to cast one last look on the sturdy dwelling that had given us so much happiness. Then, taking a deep breath of cold, clean Alpine air, I turned back to face the unknown—my parents, the art world, and a new home.
Chapter Ten
We arrived back in Vienna the evening before Sylvester. After depositing our bags in the studio, we reclaimed our urban lives as if we had never been away. Andreas was eager to catch up with his colleagues, so we headed for our neighborhood Kneipe, hazy with cigarette smoke and buzzing with the usual debates about the state of the arts in Vienna. We had only been away for a few days, but Andreas was anxious to plunge back into this world, as if we’d been away for months. I was hungry enough to join him, but wasn’t looking forward to a long night of drinking and dissecting whatever scandal we’d missed. I didn’t expect the news of my abandoning my parents’ home would have reached these quarters, rendering me safe from discovery for at least another day, but I knew all that would change as soon as my face and body were unveiled at the exhibition. Someone who knew my parents would undoubtedly attend the opening.
Places were immediately made for us at our usual table, as chairs scraped back and hearty welcomes were extended to us.
“Where have you been? Hugo from the Tagblatt has been sniffing around trying to get a scoop on the exhibition. He said he’d heard it was bound to send shock waves through the city. We could all claim to know nothing, since you’ve kept those canvases well hidden, Andreas. But what is the harm in telling us now, with so little time left before the opening?”
Andreas smiled and squeezed my hand under the table. The curiosity that had clearly been building while we’d been away was exactly what he was hoping for.
“You’ll just have to wait, like the rest of the critics. Part of what I hope to achieve depends on the secrecy. I can tell you, it’s like nothing I’ve ever done before.”
“Perhaps Maya will give us a hint. You’ve seen the canvases, haven’t you?”
I could feel my cheeks redden, and quickly took a sip of wine to steady my nerves.
“I can tell you it’s the best work Andreas has produced so far. He’s carved a new direction that I fully expect him to continue. The paintings are positively thrilling.”
The inquisition was temporarily quelled when the waiter brought our goulash. Despite the teasing, the group seemed genuinely glad to have us back. Although I had originally intended to limit my drinking, I found myself reaching for the wine several times, caught up in the convivial spirit of the evening. But I also found myself seeking both solace and strength in the wine, fortification for the days ahead. And in some way, I was also avoiding the reality of what our return to Vienna meant. Perhaps I was mimicking the recklessness of soldiers on the eve of battle, knowing that on the morrow they might die.
We fumbled our way back to the studio well past midnight, leaning on each other as Andreas unlocked the door to the courtyard. Just as I had been driven to bury my fear in the wine, I also sought to obliterate any thought at all by taking Andreas to bed as soon as we entered the studio. Our lovemaking that night had nothing of the tenderness and joy of our sojourn in the Alps, nor the insatiable passion that had inspired the canvases destined to transform Andreas’s career and shatter my parents’ perception of their daughter. Instead, the sex was impelled by the need to forget.
I woke the next morning to the aroma of coffee and the sound of Andreas splashing in the washbasin as he shaved.
“What time is it?”
“Nine. I’m leaving for the Secession hall shortly to oversee the final details. With three artists’ work on display tonight, I want to make sure nothing got rearranged while we were away.”
